Steel In The Blood
by steelphoenix
Summary: [Iron Kingdoms Warmachine] A young mechanik's story: Kasmira Mekevich has one Khadoran parent, one Cygnaran, and is totally dedicated to mechanika. What does this make for? Adventure! Rated K for now, will be rated higher in later chapters. Enjoy!
1. Forging

**Steel In The Blood  
**

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**One**

**Forging**

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**Author's Notes:** This is the character backstory for my Iron Kingdoms character, Kasmira Mekevich. She's an Arcane Mechanik/Bodger (works with mechanical and magical items). The Iron Kingdoms is a D&D / D20 supplement by Privateer Press, and is in the same world as the WarMachine / Hordes wargames. It's an absolutely kickass setting, commonly described as 'steam-punk': an Industrial Revolution with magic. Check out www(dot)privateerpress(dot)com. 

I hope you enjoy it.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own D&D, D20, Iron Kingdoms, or any of their associated trademarks. But I do love them to pieces.

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A man, tall and dark, leans over the workbench, carefully turning a small spanner. As the tool spins, the prongs of the arcane condenser come together, cradling the accumulator that sits in the condenser's cradle. One final, careful pull on the spanner assures the mechanik of the fit, and he steps back, "There we are, ready. Have I missed anything, Kasmira?" The rolling vowels and consonants of the Khadoran language make his voice deep, rich, and comforting to the small girl who perches on the workbench. 

The girl – Kasmira – shakes her dark head with all the solemnity that a seven-year-old can muster. "No, Father, I do not think you have." The man smiles, agreeing. "No, I do not think I have," he grins, then places his hands on the condenser. "Goggles."

The girl pulls down a miniature pair of mechanik's goggles from on top of her head, fitting them expertly and quickly. "Done," she smiles, and leans forward, watching with the intent curiosity that only children can have, as her father begins chanting carefully.

Magic builds up on his hands, the familiar red light of an Umbrean spellcaster's magic, and is sucked into the condenser. Golden lightning swirls up about the prongs of the condenser, dancing across the accumulator. The coils inside it begin to glow, blue-white light beginning to swirl inside. The glow grows brighter and brighter, until it is the familiar, intense, blue-rimmed white of a fully-charged accumulator.

The man ceases chanting as the accumulator goes to full charge, taking his hands off the condenser, extra charge arcing off his fingers as he gently unscrews the condenser's prongs and lifts out the accumulator. "All done!" the girl squeals, excitably, bouncing down off the bench, little boots hitting the ground with scarcely a thump. "Can I hold it, Father? Please?"

Ivdan smiles down at his daughter, "Gloves on first." The girl bounces off, coming back pulling on a pair of heavy gloves that are still a little too big for her. The father crouches, carefully placing the accumulator in Kasmira's outstretched hands. The little girl's eyes widen in wonder and in pride as the pulse of light from the arcane object flickers and synchronises with her heartbeat. "Father, look! It likes me!"

The man grins proudly down at her, "I told you that you would make a good mechanik. Do you want to show your mother?"

"Do you want to show your mother what?" The woman strolling around the corner is tall, slim, and blonde, and speaks the language of Khador with a slight, odd accent.

"Look, Mother!" the girl squeals, bouncing over to her mother, holding out the accumulator. "It likes me! And Father said that I'd make a great mechanik!" Unconsciously, the girl has switched to the tongue of Cygnar. "Excellent, Kasmira!" Ashla replies, smiling and picking her daughter up.

Ivdan scoops the accumulator out of the girl's hands. "Right, I will just put this away…" "And I'll wash up, then we can start supper. Right?" "You read my mind, love."

"Mother," says Kasmira, as Ashla carries her up the set of stairs to the small set of rooms above the garage that is their home, "I wanna be a mechanik."

"Of course you do." Ashla smiles. "We'll start lessons soon."

---

Kasmira grins smugly down at the accumulator nestled neatly in its cradle, pats it one last time, then swings the cover closed, and it engages with a neat _click_. She picks up the shield and places it on the bench face-down, displaying the neatly-welded cover and conduits arcing to the edges of the shield.

"Father! Come and look!" she yells up the stairs. A few minutes later, her father emerges in a rumpled and slightly oil-stained red overall, pulling on a voluminous brown coat, hair sleep-tousled. "Why are you up at this hour, Kasya? And why are you yelling so loud?"

The girl steps out of the way, revealing the item she'd been working on since the early hours of the morning. "You said you had to get it finished by today, Father. And I know that you have other things to do more urgently. So I thought…"

Ivdan's only comment is to frown down at his daughter, and the delighted, proud glow starts to fade. She begins explaining, gabbling fast and trying to get out of trouble. "I am sorry, Father, I followed all the plans, and I used the parts you were going to, and I was really careful with the rune plates, and I did not touch the condenser, just the accumulator, and…" her voice peters out and she waits with bated breath as her father steps forward, lifts the cover, and begins flicking through the components, twisting at welds, tapping at the conduits, testing the flow of arcane power through the device with small probes of magic.

Eventually, he replaces the components, flicks the cover closed, and steps back. His face is still forbidding, and Kasmira bows her head, waiting for the lecture that is sure to descend on her head. "The workmanship is good. The placement of components is passable. The flow of power is good." The girl looks up, and her expression is disbelieving.

Her father gives her a tight smile. "You did well here, Kasmira. But despite your talent and the lessons we have been giving you, you are only fifteen. This time you were lucky – if you had placed that single-charge enhancement plate a finger's width to the left, you would have broken the flow between it and the accumulator, and that would have required an entire reworking of both the plate and its conduits. You've never worked with four rune plates before, and I wanted to supervise you. Also… had this gone wrong, I would have been blamed. And I get few enough commissions, as you know."

Kasmira is nodding, her expression shamefaced. She stands, alternately looking down at the open shield and her feet for a long, awkward minute. Then she ventures a question, tentatively. "If I had placed the second conduit from the single-charge plate to the accumulator through here," she points out an unused section between the accumulator and the second rune plate, "would it have had enough space to add a hybrid socket instead of a trickle socket?"

Her father smiles down at her, a real smile, which she doesn't notice because she is once again concentrating on the mechanika before her. It is nearly half an hour before Ashla comes down the stairs, and finds the two of them intensely engaged in picking apart an ancient shock shield, comparing it to the new one, and drawing new plans for innovations. The lanterns have been extinguished, and the chill winter's morning light now pours in through the open garage door. Snow sparkles outside the garage, contrasting to the magical warmth of the garage. Even with the slight chill breeze that slides through even that protection – for magic has yet to be developed that fully combats Khadoran winter – the garage is still filled with gentle warmth.

"Talking about mechanika without me?" she inquires, coughing hoarsely once and pulling her thick coat about her tighter. The other two look up, seeing her coming across the floor. Her face is tight with cold, and her face is far paler than the ruddy tan that they are familiar with.

"Oh, sorry, love, I did not mean to wake you…" Ivdan begins apologising, but Ashla smiles, and replies, "Do not worry. I merely came to tell you both that breakfast is ready. After that, we can all speak of mechanika." The odd accent is still there in her Khadoran, but after fifteen years, it is as fluent as her husband's.

Kasmira grins, and replies, "Great, Mother, I'll be ready in a bit, gotta finish a connection here."

Ashla smiles at her daughter's fluency in her own native tongue. "Then I'll see you shortly," she replies, in the same language, and turns, returning back up the stairs.

Ivdan smiles wryly, oddly proud that her wife has retained her ability in her native tongue, and taught her daughter the same fluency. Then he hears her try to conceal another cough as she enters the rooms, and the smile fades. "Kasya, close the garage door, please. We need all the warmth we can get – your mother's cough is getting worse."

---

The spring thaw is just coming, as the slick shimmer of water over the river ice tells. But the only liquid Kasmira can pay any attention to are the salty tears that drip slowly over her eyelashes.

Her father stands at her side, staring down into the grave as the pallbearers lower the casket gently. Father Vassily speaks the litany, his voice a gentle buzz – and in the back of her mind, Kasmira registers that the man really means it when he prays that Ashla Mekevich find a place at the feet of Menoth. The old man flicks over the next page of the book, and his white tabard snaps and cracks in the icy spring wind.

They'd been half-expecting, half-dreading this since Ashla had collapsed in the garage while working on a workhorse 'jack. Ivdan had confined her to bed then, pampering her with fur blankets, tasty hot meals, and roaring fires.

But it had been too late – the illness had settled in her chest, and even the meagre healing that Father Vassily could bestow had not been enough.

The other mourners are long gone when Ivdan finally turns from the graveside, and stumps back down to the garage. Kasmira follows, feeling lost and forgotten. When her father immediately begins to work on the workhorse's arm, she creeps up the stairs and hides under the covers of her bed.

It is late, very late, before Ivdan wrenches himself away from the mind-numbing work. Turning off the valves of the garage lanterns, he mounts the stairs, trying his best to be quiet. He steps to the door of Kasmira's room, and sees the lantern still flickering dully. He steps over to the small table where it sits, looking down at his daughter as he does so. Her pillow is damp, and her expression in sleep is not peaceful but troubled. He sighs once, pulls the blankets over her, and turns off the lantern, going to the mound of blankets he has piled on the bench in the kitchen.

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**Author's Notes:** I hope you enjoyed it... any criticisms, feel free to send via review or email. 

I'll post more on request.


	2. Tempering

**Steel In The Blood**

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**Author's Notes: **Okay: I realise that in the last chapter, I should have probably explained what mechanika is! It's a fusion of mechanical and magical parts. Magical components provide the power, and mecahnical components provide the direction. Accumulators are effectively magical batteries, which hold a certain number of charges, and can be recharged by channeling spells through them. Conduits are rigged to channel the magical power into runeplates, magically-engraved plates which change the accumulator's power into a spell effect. Steamjacks are the greatest mechanikal constructs there are: sentient constructs twice as tall as a man, powered by steam engines. Workjacks are the labour jacks, and warjacks are (unsurprisingly) equipped to kill, and are controlled in battle by iron-willed sorceror-generals, warcasters. For more info and suchlike, check www(dot)privateerpress(dot)com.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own D&D, D20, Iron Kingdoms, or any of their associated trademarks. But I do love them to pieces.

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**Two**

Tempering

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"Mechanik!" A haughty voice echoes through the garage, and the owner of the voice is visible outside the door. Clearly he is not prepared to go inside, as he dusts facetiously at his white suede coat, despite the dust that the late-spring wind is kicking up off the road.

"Yes, yes, I am coming…" Ivdan puts down the wrench he'd been using to tighten the bolts of a farm plough, and walks across to the entrance, wiping his hands on the nearest scrap of cloth he can find. It is making his hands oilier than they were before, but he doesn't particularly care – this man, from his bearing, dress, and accent, is Rynnish.

The man looks him up and down, his eyes dwelling on the oil stains on the mechanik's hands and red overall. Ivdan sticks out his hand, a fake-friendly grin on his face. "Greetings. There is obviously something you want me to do for you…?"

The Rynnish man shudders and reaches out, shaking Ivdan's hand quickly and letting go as fast as he can. "Er, yes, I have an item I wish you to repair."

"And that would be…?"

"This." The Ryn reaches down to the scabbard at his side, and carefully draws the beautiful rapier that hangs there. The mechanik's eyes open wide, for he is not only a man who knows mechanika, he was also once a soldier, and knows weapons almost as well. He carefully places it in the mechanik's hands, and Ivdan gently turns it over, inspecting the shimmer of the blade and the decorations of the hilt.

The close inspection confirms what he thought: it is a blade of quenched serricsteel, the strongest and most expensive metal known in the Kingdoms, and the hilt is of serricsteel, its slightly weaker brother. He slides a hand over the intricate design of the hilt, smiling as he flicks a hidden catch and a compartment opens to reveal a small accumulator nestled in the centre of the weapon.

The Ryn nods down at the hilt, a superior smile on his face. "I wish you to recharge the accumulator… no doubt that will be easy, even for a country mechanik." Ivdan raises an eyebrow at the man's tone, but the Ryn carries on irregardless. "I will pay you ten crowns to have it done by tomorrow."

The mechanik nods. "I can do that." He laughs, slightly mockingly. "My daughter could do that, if I wished her to."

The Ryn raised an eyebrow, "Oh, really? Then let her."

"I was joking… but…" Ivdan grinned, which became malicious as he turned around, out of sight of the Ryn, and yelled, "Kasmira! Come down to the garage!"

"Yes, Father?" A tousled head sticks out from the rooms, and a minute later, Kasmira is scooting down the stairs, holding up the hem of a bright red dress. As she comes over to the two men, both look her up and down, her father with horror (remembering belatedly that there is a Spring Dance at the Town Hall tonight), and the Ryn with a condescending smile.

Ivdan clicks the accumulator out of its socket in the sword, and hands it to his daughter. "Please recharge this, Kasmira." He forestalls her protest that she is in her best dress with a wave of his hand, "It's worth a new dress, Kasya," he adds quickly.

The Ryn is all of a sudden eager to inspect the way this is carried out, and hurries over to the condenser with the two mechaniks. Ivdan briefly excuses himself to finish off the plough, knowing that it is needed soon, and Piotr will be pestering him for it tomorrow.

Kasmira carries out the charging of the accumulator as she has been taught, red and gold swirls of magic powering it up rapidly. She is too absorbed in the magic to notice the Ryn moving gradually closer and closer. Just as she carefully places the sword down, clicking the accumulator cover back into place, an arm slides about her waist. "Excellent… there is what you wanted." The man's free hand drops a pouch to the table, a clink confirming that coins are its contents, and the sword is slid away. "Now, my dear, would you like a little extra in the payment?"

The Ryn has obviously had practise at this, and he backs her up against the bench where the condenser is still humming. "You're a pretty little thing, you know." He leans forward for a kiss, and is intercepted by one of Kasmira's fists. He reels back, nose spurting blood, and his expression incredulous.

Kasmira's face is the very description of fury and embarrassment as she yells at him in a wild mixture of Khadoran and Cygnaran, "How _dare_ you! You're trying to seduce me in _my own workshop!_ You are the most disgraceful excuse for a man I've ever known!"

Ivdan comes steaming around the corner of the workshop in time to see Kasmira land another punch, this one short and strong to the centre of the chest. From his daughter's yells, he quickly realises what has happened, and the Ryn soon finds himself suspended in midair. He is carried over to the garage door, and flung outwards into the dusty street.

"You'll 'ear ob dis! You'll be run oud ob down!" The Ryn stumbles down the road, leaving a trail of blood, but nasty enough to shout back a threat.

Ivdan growls after him, "I do not care, we are leaving soon anyway!" At Kasmira's gasp at this statement, he sighs, and tramps over to the workbench. "Kasya… I cannot continue living in this town. Every street, I have walked down with your mother. Every building, I can picture her in. Every time I sleep in my bed, it is cold and lonely without her."

He picks up a mechanik's wrench, spinning it in random directions. "We are going to leave in a week's time, and we are going to go somewhere. I do not know where. Perhaps we will roam Khador. Perhaps we will go to Cygnar and find your mother's relatives. Perhaps those of our faith, in the Protectorate, will accept us. But we cannot stay here. I cannot stay here."

There is a long silence as Kasmira digests this, then nods. Her sense of adventure had been tingling for a while, but she had been waiting to gain her majority before she left. Her mother's death had erased her plans – she could not leave her father – and also sharpened the desire to leave. To now be offered what she had always wished… "I am… almost the same, Father. I do not wish to remain here much longer, either. Let us go out and see what the world offers…"

Her father grabs her in a bear-hug, grateful tears on his cheeks at his daughter's quick acceptance. "Thank you, Kasya…"

---

The Mercenary camp was dirty, disorganised, and overcrowded. But it was home, at least to Kasmira, and at least for now. Mercenaries were always in need of a decent mechanik, and a pair of them was even better. Kasmira pulled her hair back, tying it with a thong, and then bundling it into a rough bun, and tied the now-familiar black scarf around it. She picked up a glob of grease off the nearest warjack's elbow joint, sighing down at the sticky mess. This was her least favourite part of the morning – disguising herself. With another resigned sigh, she slapped it on to her right cheek, feeling it drip down her face and neck, and then smeared the rest across her left temple.

Since they had left their hometown, Kasmira had become ever more careful to conceal any of her appearance. Slouching, binding her breasts, adding smears of grease and oil from her mechanika, making sure nothing was remotely attractive. She'd had a very close call near the Cygnaran border, where a man had managed to drag her off. Fortunately – or perhaps unfortunately – she had had her wrench with her. She had wildly swung at him, hitting him in the head – hard. She had run, thinking she'd killed him, but by the will of some God or Ascendant, he had just been knocked unconscious. She had never told her father, and had since taken to disguising any looks that she had, few enough though they were.

She strolls out to the space where she'd left the warjack she was working on yesterday. She looks down at the gun that hung limply from the big construct's left arm, and sighs, spinning the rotating barrels. They slide smoothly for a second, then halt, jamming. She taps them idly with her wrench, then hits a bit harder. "Come on, you, _go!"_ _Clang, clang, click-whrrr…_ Suddenly the barrels slide smoothly, whirring around easily.

"What the…?" Kasmira taps again, and the barrels whirl around as they are supposed to. "You are not supposed to do that…"

Her father ducks out of the tent, "Kasya? What is the matter?"

"I do not know, Father… somehow the jam cleared up…" Ivdan nods, then leans closer, inspecting the machinery. "Now, let us see what we have here…"

Both mechaniks pause and look up as there is a quick scuffle around one of the tents up the way, shouting breaking out and the mill of punches thrown. Then a pair of men come running down the rough track between the tents, shots pursuing them. One collapses near where Kasmira stands, and lies there, writhing in pain.

A man strides down the alley, hands working quickly to reload the pistol in his hands. He lifts it, braces, and sends a shot after the other man, who is still running. There is a sickening crack, even from the distance, and he falls in a small, crumpled heap.

The pursuer stops where the other man lies, twisted with pain. He lifts his right arm, a quietly clicking piece of mechanika, and a small blade slides out from behind one of the armour plates with a quiet _skissh_. "Ya think you can cross me, ya bastard? Ya think that Magnus the Traitor is to be messed with?"

He kicks at the man on the ground, rolling him over. The man ceases to whimper, looking up at the grim, scarred face above him. "N-no… didn't mean to… please…" His voice fades, knowing before he even asks that it is futile. "…mercy…?"

"Ya know I don't give that." Magnus' voice is pure ice and steel, and he reaches down, the mechanikal arm lifting the victim effortlessly. The tiny knife is lifted and flicks across the man's neck. Blood gushes briefly across the steel plating of Magnus' arm, then slows to a mere trickle.

The mercenary leader drops the body, then turns around. Kasmira's face, white with shock, catches his eye, and he steps over to where she stands, thrusting out the mechanikal arm. "Clean it. I don't want it rusting."

Kasmira stares down at the blood-covered steel, then backs away, turning and running behind the tent to lose her breakfast in a sticky heap.

Ivdan steps in, picking up a cleaning cloth. Though his face is slightly pale under his tan, he has seen death before him before, unlike his daughter. "Sir, my daughter has never seen death so close before. Let me do this."

Magnus nods, looking to where the girl disappeared. "She'll learn."

---

Ivdan looks around the corner of the tent, seeing Kasmira still bent over. "Kasya?" The girl looks up, tears streaking the concealing grease on her face.

"So much blood!" is all she can gasp, then another flood of tears flows over as the horror of the scene replays itself again, the sheer cold indifference on Magnus' face as he slid the knife across his victim's throat. "Didn't know someone… could be so cold… so unfeeling… killed him so easily…" she collapses into another rain of tears. In all her eighteen years, she has never seen something so horrible.

"Kasya, there are many men in the world like him. Far too many. And I should not have stayed here so long. It was good money, but money is not worth the soul." Ivdan's voice is certain, for he has been thinking this for a while. If he were to die, or be incapacitated, Kasmira would be on her own, in a mercenary camp. And only Menoth would know what would befall her if left there. "We will go to Corvis, and you will see your grandparents. If they take you in, then that will be the best we can hope for. If not… then we will find you a good place."

The teenager can only sob, nestled in the only place she has felt safe for a long while, once more a place where she is justified in trusting.

---

Sorry about the long wait! Got caught up in the little thing called 'real life'!


	3. Runeplates

**Steel In The Blood**

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**Author's Notes:** Okay, here comes more: and any IK / WarMachine players will recognise one of the characters introduced this chapter... here's to hoping he doesn't cause too much chaos. :D

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**Three  
****Runeplates **

---

Corvis was far bigger than Kasmira had ever expected: it was the jewel of Cygnar, supposedly the jewel of Immoren, but she had never expected it to be this big. It was certainly as big as Korsk, the capital of Khador, but she'd only been there once. And she knew that the Cygnarans didn't favour engineering as… solid… as that of Khador. Her father is up ahead, bargaining with a street hawker for a couple of pies – his previous experience with the city telling. She idles, looking around at the crowds and houses.

"It is certainly as dirty…" she mutters in Khadoran, forgoing Cygnaran in the hope that she won't offend someone on her first day in the capital.

"You bitch!" Kasmira looks up, her first thought being, _Someone does understand Khadoran around here…_ then realises that the insult was not directed at her. In fact, it was yelled by the man who is now hanging from a second-storey window above her, and addressed to the woman who is currently lining up a pistol shot on him.

"Holy Menoth –" the oath slips out unheeded, and she moves closer, curiosity getting the better of her, just as the man swears and launches himself outwards.

The next few seconds are confused as Kasmira looks up, the man falls, he lands on her with a crashing thud, and there is confused and wounded swearing from all quarters.

Kasmira regains her senses and her feet at the same time, with a helpful heave from the unknown man. "Come on, darlin', out of the way of –" the shot over Kasmira's head makes it quite clear what the man is apprehensive about, and the teenager hustles with him under the veranda of another building.

Under the overhang, she catches a breath, and looks at the unknown. He is tall, with black hair (greying at the temples) and a lean frame, and he wears a blue greatcoat. Kasmira gasps, recognising the greatcoat: gold edging and a pair of blue-painted shoulderplates with brass edging, one with the Cygnaran swan and one with a pair of wing shapes. Her guess is proved correct as the man flicks a quick salute and grins jauntily. "Lieutenant Allister Caine, at your service, miss."

The first question out of Kasmira's mouth is the most obvious. "Why're you being shot at?"

The answer is quick and accompanied by a cheeky smile. "Just a wee domestic dispute, love. Don't worry, I'll talk her around…"

"You'll _what_, Allister?" The man is interrupted by an icy voice. The two turn to see a gorgeous blonde lining up a pistol at Allister Caine's head.

"Ah… Cecily." The man's manner is suddenly a lot grimmer, and he gently grasps Kasmira's shoulder and pushes her away, clearly out of the line of fire. The woman grins cynically over at her, then back at the lieutenant, and there is a brief explosion.

The cloud of acrid smoke clears to reveal a small hole in the deck of the veranda. "Don't worry, Allister, shooting you with so many witnesses would be a very bad idea." Before he can reply, she steps forward and slaps him hard. "Goodbye."

The lieutenant watches her stalk off down the road, rubbing his cheek. "Oh well, at least she didn't kill me," he shrugs. Then he turns to Kasmira, the jaunty grin slightly spoiled by the large red handprint that is fast appearing on his face. "Thanks for the landing, darlin'," he says, and steps forward, quickly sliding an arm around her waist, tilting up her chin with the other, and delivers a very deep and very adept kiss to her lips.

There is a shout of rage as he moves back, and Kasmira turns in his arms to see her father storming across the veranda towards them. "No, Father, he –" she begins, desperate to get the charming lieutenant out of trouble, but Allister grins down at her, "Don't worry, love, don't explain." He drops another kiss on her lips, and with a quick salute, disappears into the crowd.

Ivdan stands beside his daughter, fuming and searching the crowd for the blue greatcoat, but can't see it. Eventually he growls in frustration and turns to his daughter. "Now, Kasmira, this is why I was warning you about Army men," he begins, in Cygnaran (for the benefit of gaping onlookers), but his daughter cuts him off. "Don't worry, Father, I won't go looking for trouble." _I won't, but he'll find me…_

---

Ivdan is still fuming when they walk down one of the minor lanes in the artisan's quarter. It is a tangle of workshops and houses, acrid steam and smoke curling up to mix with the smells of cooking and bathwater. Kasmira avoids her father's gaze, instead looking about for a certain sign. Her grandfather had run a workshop about here – at least, that was what her father said – and they were hoping he still did.

She spots a strange sigil of a mechanik's wrench and a set of mechanikal arms in a six-pointed star configuration, and quickly taps her father on the arm. "Is that it?" He nods silently, and they move through the thin crowd to the door over which it hangs.

The door of the mechanik's garage is open, but the opening is mostly blocked by a large crane-fitted steamjack, so Kasmira instead goes to the small, man-sized door set beside it. Ivdan halts his daughter with a hand on her shoulder, saying, "I shall do this, Kasya," takes a deep breath, and opens the door.

The door swings, creaking slightly, and opens to reveal a large garage, several slightly cluttered workbenches around the edges. A man is bent over one, and straightens as the door creaks open. He has a pointed grey beard, the weatherbeaten face of someone who had spent a lifetime in the outdoors, and wears a beaten-up leather coat and apron. "We're not open…" he begins, then halts, his expression changing to one of anger.

"_You!_" The old man's fists are raised as he comes towards Ivdan. "_You_ stole my daughter! _You_ took her away to some godsforsaken place in Khador! _You_ –" He halts as Kasmira enters after her father, outlined in the light of the doorway.

"Ashla?" His voice wavers a second, then he sees the hair is black, not blonde, and his voice grows angry again. "You're not Ashla."

"No. I am her daughter, though." Kasmira's voice is quiet and certain, mimicking as closely as she can the calm tone she remembered her mother using. The old man's jaw drops briefly, shock running over his face, his eyes flickering between Ivdan and Kasmira, and then he spits out, "Why are you here?"

Ivdan's voice is calm in the face of the other man's anger. "Firstly… to introduce your only granddaughter to you. Secondly… to tell you of Ashla's… my wife's… your daughter's… death." His voice shakes slightly, his head bowing, and Kasmira gently places a hand on his arm.

"My Ashla's… she's dead…?" The old man staggers back, leaning hard against the workbench, sinking his head in his hands. "Ash…? Why did you defy me? Why did you leave…? Why did you die…?" Harsh sobs are wrenched out of him, and he sinks down, shaking the workbench as he collapses against it. An arcane condenser shudders on the edge of the bench, threatening to fall, and Kasmira leaps forward, grabbing it before it falls.

The old man looks up, distracted by the flurry of movement, and sees Kasmira with the condenser cradled gently in her arms. "Oi, you put that down, it's…" he begins, staggering to his feet, then sees the swirls of excess magic in the condenser's prongs gently swirling around Kasmira. The teenager looks up, blue and gold magic swirling about her arms as she gently places the condenser back on the bench. She pats the condenser, "Come on, now, back where you were," she says, addressing the magics directly. With a slow, reluctant sliding, the shimmering streams return to the condenser.

She looks up at the old man, seeing a sudden smile on his lips, despite the tears on his cheeks. "You really are her daughter. You really are Ashla's daughter," he says, and with another choked sob, steps forward and grabs her in a solid bear-hug. "Welcome home. Welcome."

---

The next few weeks, Kasmira spent becoming familiar with Brunner Helstrom's garage. Her grandfather was rather picky as to where his tools were placed, but once the teenager understood where everything belonged (and why it belonged there), she was quite comfortable with mucking about in the place. She took on some of her grandfather's workload, repairing pieces of 'jacks that he either had not had the time to work on.

Her father was still uncomfortable with the place, preferring to go out to find work. Soon, he was talking of leaving with a Mercenary company as the company mechanik. Kasmira just smiled at this, knowing that her father had discovered a preference for the road in the first few weeks after leaving their Khadoran hometown. Eventually, he decided to leave with Gorten Grundback and his 'jacks. He'd apparently been looking for a new mechanik for a while, and Ivdan fulfilled his requirements well. His promise to his daughter to return as often as he could was met with a smile and a laugh, and the assertion not to leave a good job just because he was worried about her.

With plenty of 'jacks and mechanika to repair, and a new city to get to know, Kasmira barely noticed six months pass. By the time her nineteenth birthday passed (with little notice), she had a strong Corvis accent, knew the city reasonably well, and had made a gaggle of new friends – young mechaniks like herself, a few of the University's students, a couple of Army trenchers, and a few of the gobbers that liked to hang around the garages. And of course, Allister Caine made life interesting when he came on leave every couple of months – at least, after one little detail had been cleared up.

---

A pair of blue-clad arms slide around Kasmira's waist, and she straightens, putting down the spanner she had been using, and turned in the arms, looking up to see a grinning face.

"Er… Lieutenant Caine, wasn't it?" she asked, recognising the man from her first day in Corvis. She'd discovered considerably more about the man – including the fact that he was a warcaster – since then, mainly due to scandalous rumours.

"Yes, darlin', but you can call me Allister." He grins lopsidedly, and drops a kiss on her lips. He doesn't have time to enjoy it, as Kasmira pushes him away the moment their lips contact. Her voice is stern, and her face frowns at the man's impertinence. "If you're intendin' to romance me, _Lieutenant_, then you're in for a hard time about it. But if you want to be a friend, then I have no problems with that."

Caine's eyebrows shoot up, and his expression shows shock – and, to Kasmira's surprise, embarrassment. "Ah…" he looses his hands from about her waist, and steps back. "Sorry… I thought…"

Kasmira jumps in on his uncertainty, wanting the situation straight from the start. Unconsciously, she has picked up her mechanik's wrench, and now she taps it with her fingers, rather forebodingly. "You didn't think, didya? Let me make this clear: I'm not some cheap whore to be laid 'n paid, and I'm not some lady to be romanced. So ya got one choice: accept me as a friend, and nothing else."

The man's mouth works up and down for a few seconds, then a slow smile spreads across his face – a real, genuine smile, not the rakish grin he generally sports – and he bursts into laughter. Kasmira casts him an icy glare, and he chuckles harder at that. "Y'know, I think that'd be good. Don't have many friends… and I think you'd be a good one."

Kasmira nods at this, a smile starting on her lips. "Friends?" She sticks out her hand, and the warcaster grasps it firmly. "Yup. Wanna go out for a drink?" The mechanik frowns across at the mess of parts on the workbench. "I suppose the mechanika can wait a couple of hours…"

A quick stroll through the streets of Corvis leads the pair to a sturdy building, marked as 'The Sapphire'. Allister nods up at the sign. "It's a popular place for Army, got a good reputation… didn't think you'd want to go somewhere dodgy." He grins lopsidedly at Kasmira's raised eyebrow. "Can't let a friend have anythin' but the best."

They enter the bar – it is a homely place with whitewashed walls, great wooden pillars and beams for the roof, warmly lit by numerous lanterns. Groups of men and women – most wearing some permutation of Cygnaran Army uniform – are scattered about the room at tables and booths. One of a tableful of gun mages (in the uniform of the Arcane Tempest) waves at Caine, gesturing the two arrivals in. They stroll over, and Caine filches a couple of chairs from a nearby table, setting one straight and gesturing to Kasmira to take a seat.

"A ladyfriend, Caine?" asks one of the gun mages, eyeing her up, his eyes dwelling on the oil smudges on her face and coat. He is blonde, younger than Caine, and wears a Captain's mark on his shoulder. A smile briefly flickers across Kasmira's lips as she remembers a couple of tales that had explained why Caine didn't have the selfsame marks on his shoulder.

Caine flicks another lopsided grin at Kasmira. "Nah, she's just a friend." Eyebrows around the table shoot up, and the Captain voices what everyone else is thinking, "Just a friend? Caine, since when is a woman ever 'just a friend' to you?"

"Since she makes it very clear, with aid of her wrench, that she ain't desirous of anythin' else. I do believe the words were, 'I'm not a whore to be laid 'n paid, and I'm not a lady to be romanced'." A pair of half-embarrassed, half-conspiratorial grins are shared between Kasmira and Caine. There is a long, stunned silence as the rest of the table digests this information, then roars of laughter ring out across the room.

One of the gun mages calms his laughter enough to ask, "So who's this girl that's got Allister Caine respectin' her?"

"I'm Kasmira Mekevich," she replies, smiling at their amusement. All of a sudden, the laughter dies, and one of the other gun mages repeats, "Kasmira Mekevich? You Khadoran?" Hands begin to move off the table, to holsters, and some begin to rise, threatening.

Looking around at the grim faces, all of a sudden, Kasmira realises what she has just implied. A horrified look crosses her face, and she leaps to her feet, waving her hands placatingly, babbling out explanations as fast as she can. "No, I'm not Khadoran – well, I am kinda – my mother was Cygnaran, Father's Umbrean – I'm living with my Grandfather here – he's Brunner Helstrom – oh, Menoth…"

"Helstrom? Brunner Helstrom?" one of the gun mages frowns down at her. "He said something about a granddaughter from Umbrey. An' if you're related to the captain of the Guard…"

"You know Grandfather?" Hope flicks across Kasmira's face. "Yes, I'm from Umbrey, I just came here about – oh, six months ago – that day that you fell on me, Lieutenant, that was my first day in Corvis." She looks down at Caine, who is still seated.

Shock, disbelief, and laughter flicker across Caine's face, and eventually laughter wins out over the other two. "Morrow, that was your first day in Corvis? Must'a made quite an impression!" He bursts into full-throated laughter, and the rest of those at the table stare at him as if he has grown another head.

"I want to make sure that you are who you say you are," the Captain ignores Caine's hilarity, his eyes boring into Kasmira, and he reaches into a pouch at his waist, picking something out. Kasmira has no time to see what it is before the Captain's voice becomes curiously warped, "_I _suggest_ that _you_ tell us what your _full _and _completely true_ story is, with _no_ omissions or additions._"

Kasmira nods dumbly, a blank fog over her mind. She hears her voice reciting her story, and internally she yells at it to be quiet, that that information is too personal, but to no avail. She cannot stop the flow of words, the swirls of magic binding her to saying it. Ten minutes later, she finishes, and suddenly her mind is her own again.

The Captain is nodding, "Very well, Kasmira Mekevich… Though I think it would be a good idea to go by a different name in Corvis." He sticks out a hand, "Pleased t' meet ya. I'm Lon Darbeck."

Kasmira nods, shaking his hand and grinning wryly. He hadn't been malicious, just paranoid, and she couldn't hold it against him. "Pleased to meet you. And I'll keep the name in mind…"

"So, Kas, about that drink I promised you…?" Caine interrupts, plumping a beer mug down in front of her. The shortened name prompts a raised eyebrow from Kasmira, but she takes a drink anyway.

One of the gun mages, now smiling, asks, "So, Kasmira, if your introduction to Corvis was Allister Caine falling on you, why did you stay?", which prompts ribaldry and teasing, and Kasmira smiles at the now-comfortable group. _I could get to like this._

---

Yes, that was Suggestion that the Captain used. And is anyone happy that I just introduced the bad boy of the Iron Kingdoms to my story:P

More wanted?


End file.
